Black as Black as Black
by CeliaEquus
Summary: Another unusual pairing from yours truly! Hermione died during the last battle. Harry, in his sorrow, commissioned a magical painting of her, and then hung it in the library. What happened next? Usual disclaimers apply, of course!


"Black as Black as Black"

The man who removed Mrs. Black's portrait had done good work on Hermione's painting. Harry, Ron and Ginny linked arms as they stood there, looking at the portrait above the fireplace in the library. It was the only room Hermione had liked at Number Twelve.

Ginny sniffled, and wiped at her eyes. She leaned her head against Harry's shoulder.

"I miss her," she said. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Hey, I'm right here!" she said, waving a painted hand.

"It's not the same," Ron said. "Hermione, I was going to propose."

"To _me_?"

"Who else?" he asked, spreading his hands.

"Oh." Hermione looked down. "I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I wouldn't have accepted." He opened his mouth. "No, Ron. We're not compatible. The expression 'opposites attract' is just a myth. If we were together, it wouldn't change anything. We would still argue over inconsequential things, there would still be misunderstandings, you would be jealous of any unattached male friends I make, and your family's so fertile – no offence, Gin – that I'd never have a chance for a career!"

"Well, you won't now," he said, scowling at her. Then he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Hermione sighed.

"I'm not usually the tactless one, am I?" she asked. She looked at her friends. "What do _you_ think?"

"You were right, Hermione," Ginny said. "On all accounts. Ron's just being a prat."

"You'll see," Harry said. "He'll find someone else."

"And… I w-won't," she said. She looked away, and then smiled. "I'll be fine. At least I didn't die in vain."

"Don't think Professor Snape sees it that way," Ginny said. "He hates being indebted to a Gryffindor."

"Tell me about it," Harry muttered. "Hey, `Mione. At least you don't have kids he can torture when they go to Hogwarts."

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said, giving him a withering look. "I might explore for a bit," she continued. "At least there are other people I can speak to."

"Oh, cripes," Ginny said, her eyes widening. "Harry, this house is full of portraits of people who hate Muggleborns!"

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. "Sorry, `Mione."

"It's okay. I might sleep for a bit. See what it's like." She waved her hands around. "I always wondered what this would be like, but never wanted to ask one of the portraits at Hogwarts about it. That would have been even more tactless than what I said to Ron."

"Good night, Hermione," Ginny said, and she left the room. Harry placed his hand on Hermione's painted arm.

"Don't you just love magic?" she whispered. Teary-eyed, he nodded, and left the room in silence.

* * *

The only portrait Hermione had ever really spoken to was Phineas Nigellus Black; so his was the first painting she visited the next day.

"Hello!" she said, poking her head in around the frame. He glared at her.

"You're that Mudblood," he said.

SMACK!

"Incredible," she murmured, massaging her hand. "I actually felt that."

"So. Did. I," he said, teeth clenched as he glared at her. "That was completely unnecessary."

"Just as you calling me a 'Mudblood' was unnecessary," she said, scowling.

"That is what you are."

"You know perfectly well that it is merely an insult," she said. "I don't have mud in my blood. I am a Muggleborn." She lifted her chin. "While I may be proud of my heritage, and generally don't let the name affect me, I still expected better from a fellow… art subject." She turned her back on him, ignoring the sensation of basically being two-dimensional. "Since you continue to be unfriendly, I'll leave."

"You will leave when I _allow you _to leave," he said, standing up.

"Make me."

She tried to walk from the frame, but he grabbed her arm, his grip tightening as she struggled.

"Stay still."

"Let me go, you brute!" she exclaimed.

"Stop tha… ow!"

Hermione had stomped on his instep, grateful that she had been given heels. In real life she never would have worn them, but she was painted in an outfit like the one she had worn to the Yule Ball. For once, she found a use for the painful shoes.

"I thought that you would be well-bred enough _not_ to manhandle a female, living or dead," she said. Huffing, she stepped from the portrait and hurried back to the library, ignoring the insults from the other portraits. To hell with them. She'd go and read…

Oh. She bit her lower lip as she looked around her new room. She couldn't read the books. That was going to be a problem. Perhaps Harry could get her some recorded novels, or work out a spell to Levitate the books to a good position for her to read them. But how could she turn them? Of course, he could always hire someone to read aloud to her, but who would have the time – or the inclination – to do that?

…Of course, there was someone who owed her a Life Debt.

Hermione began to plan.

* * *

"Now do you see why so many girls tolerated Potions? They did it just to listen to your voice," Hermione insisted. Severus rolled his eyes.

"And I say that you are delusional," he said. Then she raised a painted hand. "What…"

"Someone's listening in," she said, glancing at the side of the frame. With a sudden movement she darted half out of the picture, and emerged with Phineas Nigellus. "You little eavesdropper!"

"Unhand me, witch!" he said. She kicked his shin.

"Problems, Miss Granger?" Severus asked. She grimaced.

"Mr. Black has a problem with _me_," she said. "Do you know what that bastard called me?"

"My parents were married when I was conceived," Phineas said. "How _dare_ you use that word!"

"And how dare you call me a 'Mudblood'!"

"You called her a 'Mudblood'?" Severus asked, his expression darkening. He stood up and strode to the fireplace to glare at the former headmaster.

"It is what she is," Phineas replied.

She went to slap him again, but he was too quick for her. He grabbed her wrist with his left hand, and her other elbow with his right. This brought them close together, and both looked at each other in fury. Hermione's brown eyes looked up into his black ones in defiance, his stony gaze holding hers. His nostrils were flaring with each 'breath', and their noses were soon touching as they both tried to intimidate each other.

Finally, the silent was broken as Severus cleared his throat. They looked at him, and then hastily stepped apart. Phineas sent one last glare at both of them, and then stormed out of the portrait. Hermione sat down heavily in her chair, chin resting on her hand, and raised her eyebrows at Severus.

"Damn," she whispered. "What do I do?"

* * *

Phineas paced back and forth in his painted prison. Bored, he went to the Ministry, only to find that nothing particularly interesting was happening there. Finally he went to Hogwarts, only to find that the headmistress was out. None of the other portraits gave him any kind of stimulation, intellectual or emotional.

Emotional. He hadn't had need of emotions since the nineteen-twenties; and even then he had been very stoic. Anger, perhaps, but rarely. Irritation at the younger generation, certainly. But nothing like he'd been feeling lately.

Why?

Oh yes. It was that Mudblood. She frustrated him to no end. What was it about her?

And why did he like to rile her up?

* * *

Why did he have to aggravate her so? She'd never hated someone as much as she hated him; well, aside from Voldemort. The insult of 'Mudblood' hadn't hurt like this since her second year at Hogwarts, when Ron defended her.

Now that was something. Ron hadn't been to visit her since she had rejected him. This made her feel slightly apprehensive. After all, the longer he stewed over this, the worse it might be in the end. Others came to see her, many crying over her physical absence in their lives, and of course Severus took time away from his teaching duties to read to her from books and magazines. They debated over academic things, and both found it refreshing.

Hermione still kept getting the feeling that someone was listening in, but she couldn't catch them. If it was Phineas, he had certainly learned from last time.

In truth, she wished that she could catch him again. She imagined that she'd have no feelings as a portrait, but when he was holding her she got as close to breathing as she had since she had died. She had been frightened and in pain, and was angry as hell that he had insulted her yet again. More to the point, he had ruined her time with her former professor.

She dropped off to sleep.

* * *

He wondered what she would look like sleeping in a bed, hair splayed out around her head like a demented halo, chest moving as she actually breathed. Her face was so relaxed like this, and she looked so much younger. At peace.

Phineas leant against the frame as he watched Hermione sleep. He had finally found out how she had saved Snape's life.

The final battle had been going for hours when she had been hit with a Killing Curse. Her professor had been overwhelmed with the number of Death Eaters duelling him in revenge for his spying. She ran to his aid, and was relieved to see others coming to help; he deserved to live after all he had done for the Light. She considered him a friend, and when she saw one too many spells being aimed at him – too many for him to handle – she had added a shield to his. Unfortunately, something still got through. She threw herself in front of it without thinking, half-knowing that she was going to die.

And die she did.

Next thing she knew, she was in an art shop, watching Harry pay for something. It was all explained to her, and she had almost cried. Had she been able to, she would have indeed wept when she realised that she was dead.

All this had been explained by someone who heard it from the youngest Weasley, the female one now living at Grimmauld Place. Phineas was mildly impressed with the Mudblood's actions, and came to tell her.

Not 'Mudblood'. That name seemed to upset her.

He cleared his throat. "Miss Granger?" She didn't stir. "Miss Granger?" Still nothing. He poked her shoulder. She grimaced, shifted, and yet remained asleep. He considered it too juvenile and classless to roll his eyes, but he did allow himself a small, silent sigh. He bent over and rested a hand on her cheek.

Salazar, her skin was soft. It was so real – never, in all his decades as a portrait, had he felt something like this, someone like _her_ – that he found himself wanting to live again. More than that, he found himself wanting to… to _kiss_ the girl. He wanted this young woman.

He was so involved in these thoughts that he didn't notice her eyes opening as she woke up. When her head leaned into his palm she issued a small moan. Then she clearly looked out over the room and realised where she was. He withdrew his hand swiftly and she looked up at him.

"Mr. Black?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"

True. Why _was_ he here? He had completely forgotten.

"I, uh," he struggled to think of something, and when she frowned he had inspiration, "wished to apologise for my behaviour so far. It was unacceptable and completely unbefitting a gentleman, especially of an Ancient and Noble House."

She furrowed her brows and chewed on her lower lip. "Thank you. I shouldn't have slapped – or kicked – you. It was," her mouth twitched, "unbefitting a young lady."

He chuckled, and her mouth dropped open. He bowed.

"Good day, Miss Granger," he said. His hand reached out for one of hers, but then he thought better of it. If he kissed her hand, would he stop there?

It was only when he returned to his painting that he realised what he had thought.

* * *

"I could ask Minerva," Severus said, studying his fingernails. "No doubt she would love to have a picture of you somewhere at Hogwarts. Yet it is a matter of the castle allowing it. After all, you never had a chance to graduate, so Hogwarts may not acknowledge you as a former student." He looked up at her, and she could see a touch of sadness in his eyes. "You would have outstripped everyone else by miles, Miss Granger."

She looked down at her own hands. "My education is one of my greatest regrets. I mean, it's so kind of you to help me, but I can only learn theory here, and it doesn't help me."

"You have advised me well with my own potions…"

"Only because I'm basically your sounding board," she said, but she smiled to show that she was just jesting. He half-smiled in acknowledgement.

"How are you getting along with your fellow portraits now?" he asked. Hermione described the incident from the other day.

"I wondered if he was going to kiss my hand, but was put off by my… 'breeding'," she confessed.

"As a portrait you have no blood," he said, tilting his head. "You don't even breathe, do you?"

"No," she said. "You only go through the emotions."

"At least you don't feel pain."

"Oh, I feel that," she said. "I feel things. Well…" She frowned. "The only contact I've had with another subject is with Phineas, since no one else would even shake my hand. It hurt me when I slapped him, and I felt his hand on my cheek."

"I will consult with the other portraits at Hogwarts, if you wish," he said.

"Thank you, sir! That would be really helpful."

"Very well, Miss Granger. I will let you know what I find out."

* * *

No matter how much the late Albus Dumbledore poked Armando Dippett in the shoulder, and allowed himself to be hit on the back, neither noticed any pain.

"Perhaps Head paintings are different," Minerva said, and she glanced at Severus. He was frowning.

"I shall try another portrait," he said. "Thank you, Minerva. Good day." He bowed his head to the previous Heads of Hogwarts, and was slightly amused to see that the two men with the same initials were now slapping each other on the arms in a girly fashion. He shook his head and left the office.

The next three hours he searched Hogwarts for picture subjects who could feel pain. None of them could, and he wondered what it meant.

Frustrated, Severus went to the library. Madame Pince helped him find the books on magical portraits, and he skimmed the information.

Finally, he found it… and yet it couldn't possibly be right… could it?

* * *

Meanwhile, Hermione had got tired of waiting and went for a walk. She asked the other Blacks if any of them could feel, and ended up hitting and kicking a few of them for making unnecessarily cruel comments. Nobody reacted. By the time she returned to her library home – having steered clear of one particular painting – she was upset. Sinking into her armchair, she rested her head on her arms and wept as quietly as she could.

When a hand began to stroke her hair she jumped away from it and fell the floor with a crash. She yelped, but felt no pain. She curled up, tears flowing more readily now with her confusion.

"Miss Granger, what has caused you such grief?"

"I'm abnormal," she said. She looked up at Phineas. "Not that you care."

"Why do you believe this?"

"Because no one else can feel pain. The rest of the Blacks all said that there was something with me. They said that M… Mudbloods don't deserve the honour of being turned into magical paintings since m-magic isn't theirs to begin with, and that I should just be t-torn down. You know," she laughed hollowly, "the usual sort of thing."

"The 'usual sort of thing'?" he asked, his eyes flashing dangerously. She didn't notice, too wrapped up in her hurt.

"I should have expected nothing less from _purebloods_," she spat.

"You are just as prejudiced," he said, reclining in her armchair.

"Much as I love him, Neville Longbottom would get far more job offers from the Ministry than I would, and his only forte is Herbology. It is all about blood purity. Voldemort's influence subconsciously worked on so many so-called Light supporters."

"My dear, you have forgotten that I have also felt pain," he said.

She looked up at him. "Yes. I'd forgotten that. Have you always been able to do that?"

"I hardly experiment," he said, frowning at her. "I am no masochist. But I confess that the first time I had felt pain in years was when you struck me."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Do not apologise again. It reminded me that I was once human as well." He held out a hand. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"_No_! And that's the frustrating thing." She sighed, and he helped her up. "There must be something wrong with me. Though perhaps Severus has found something else." She felt a sharp pain in her hands, and gazed down at them. Phineas was holding them in a death grip. He eased the pressure as soon as he noticed her discomfort.

"Forgive me," he said.

"I felt pain again," she said. "Did you do that on purpose?"

"No," he replied, his eyes locked with hers. "But I felt pain, too."

"I'm not surprised…"

"Not that pain," he said, and he lifted a hand. He cradled her cheek. "You must ignore my family. There is nothing wrong with you. If there is, then the same is wrong with me. I am more than one century older than you, so it cannot be a case of having the same artist; and the man who was commissioned to do my portrait painted several of the pictures in this house."

She stared deeply into his eyes; at that moment, nothing could have compelled her to look away.

"Phineas," she whispered. "Tell me I'm okay. Reassure me."

"You… you are beautiful," he said. His eyebrows shot up, but then his expression relaxed. "Yes. It is true. You are lovely. _Perfect_." Holding her face in both of his hands, he pulled her close until their noses were almost touching.

"Make me feel human again," she said, lost in his gaze. She could have sworn that her heart was beating faster than usual.

It… it was _beating_?

"I will," he promised.

One touch and they wrapped their arms around each other, allowing the passion to work its magic. Phineas moaned as he lifted her from the ground, their bodies pressed together. Hermione parted her lips to deepen the kiss, something she had never tried before. Their breaths mingled as they were swept away in the sweetness of _life_ that they felt.

He grunted as she tugged at his hair, causing him the sweet tinge of pain that reminded him that he had been real once. The terrible thing about being a painting was that one had no soul; a mind, yes, but nothing else. Not even true form.

Not until Hermione.

"More," Hermione said hoarsely. Phineas immediately crushed her mouth with his, indulging in feelings he had never had, even when he was flesh and blood.

"I love you," he said, moaning his words into the kiss. She gasped, and pulled back to look at him.

"Why? And how did I fall for you?" she asked, stroking his cheek. He kissed the skin of her wrist and she shivered. "I love you, too."

"I never anticipated this," he said. "But enough of talking."

This time, when he drew her into the kiss, something happened. Everything took on another dimension with their confessions. The heat of their kisses intensified, both panting as Phineas moved her backwards, thinking that there would be a wall he could push her up against. Instead, Hermione let out a yelp as she ran into a chair.

"Bloody thing," she muttered, and she kicked it out of the way. It knocked against the library desk, and she shook her head before looking back at the man she had unexpectedly fallen in love with.

But he wasn't looking at her. Instead, he was gazing around. She jumped as she saw that they were no longer in the painting. They were no longer made of paint.

"What the devil happened?" he asked. Hermione placed a hand on his chest.

"I can feel your heart beating," she said in wonder.

"How? _Why_? This is… unheard of."

"Perhaps I can help?"

They both turned around to see Severus in the doorway. Phineas took a possessive step towards Hermione.

"Were you successful, Professor?" she asked. No matter how she referred to him in private, she refused to use his first name to his face.

He held up a book in reply. "According to _Ars Magica_, when two painted persons find love with each other, and never had a chance to experience their love when they were both alive, a highly emotional state may _theoretically_ cause them to… return to the land of the living." His gaze flickered from one to the other. "So that they may experience," he sneered, his dungeon bat side emerging, "true love."

"So… we're alive?" Hermione said, her eyes nearly falling out of her head.

"Apparently, if what I witnessed is anything by which to judge."

She clapped her hands, laughing, and then kissed Phineas. Before he could respond she ran to her Potions professor and threw her arms around him. She kissed him blithely on the cheek, and then let go.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "I can't believe that I – that both of us – have a second chance."

"Congratulations," he said dryly. "To avoid having to witness any further 'poignant' scenes, I shall take my leave. Good day to you." He nodded his head at them, and then left. Hermione turned back to Phineas.

"We're alive," she whispered. He inclined his head, but looked hesitant. "Aren't you pleased?"

"I have forgotten how to live," he said, brow creased in worry.

"You're breathing," she said, smiling. "That's a good start. Come." She held out her hand. "Let's me show you real life."

**

* * *

**

Oh, huzzah! As always, I am the Queen (or Princess, at least) of odd pairings.

**Hope you enjoyed this little offering. The title is a reference to his name, as Phineas, Nigellus and Black all mean… well, 'black'. And you've got to admit that their future as paintings looked pretty darn bleak.**

**Meh. Review, please! And let me know if you'd be interested in reading a chaptered story of this pairing.**

**And, for those of you who might ask, Hermione would have accepted whatever was in a book, especially if it was stated by a professor. That's just her nature. Hence the fact that she didn't begin to analyse the situation, though no doubt she will get a hold of the book later to see for herself.**


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